Cattermoles Abroad

by Model Builder

After escaping from the UK, the Cattermole family is granted asylum by the Magical Congress of the United States of America, and finds a home with the Stephens family. But Dolores Umbridge is not through with Mary Elizabeth Cattermole and will stop at nothing to get her back, even if it means a possible confrontation with the Stephens family's formidable matriarch, Endora.

13. Umbridge Triumphant

Chapter 13: Umbridge Triumphant

The fat teenage wizard pursuing the frightened children struggled to control his damaged broom as he screamed, "STOP RUNNING FROM ME, YOU LITTLE BRATS!"

That was more than Adam and Reg needed to know: their children were in danger from the boy on the broom. In less than a second, both wizards had their wands out and simultaneously hit the boy with a stunning spell, throwing him from the damaged broom that then dropped out of the sky and onto the road when relieved of its rider. The boy hit the ground and rolled a few times before landing face-up on the road. Not giving the boy any chance to regain his senses, Reg said, "Accio wand!" and the boy's wand flew from his Hogwarts blazer pocket to Reg, who caught it smoothly.

Adam made it to the fallen boy in three strides. He grabbed the dazed teen wizard by the lapels of his school blazer, and hauled him to his feet, forcing him hard against the side of the yellow Pacer with an audible thud. "Why," said Adam in a menacing tone that made Reg shiver slightly. "Why were you chasing my son and my friend's daughter?"

"Go to Hades," spat the boy. "You sodden blood-traitor!"

"Adam," said Reg, thinking that his friend was about to physically assault the boy. "If he won't talk, let's ask our children, then.

"Maisie, why was this boy chasing you and Matthew?"

At Reg's question, both Maisie and Matt began talking simultaneously about how the teenage wizard came on them while they were setting the crawfish traps and tried to entice them to go with him, and when they refused, he became belligerent, and tried to force them to go with him.

When they were done, Maisie added, "Thank G-d you and Mr. Stephens were here when we ran out of the forest or that boy would have gotten us! And he definitely would have gotten us if Matt hadn't been so brave when he knocked the boy off of his broom with a crawfish trap!" Maisie's last comment made Matt smile from ear to ear.

Adam nodded, not taking his eyes off the boy he held against the car, and said, "Alright, kid. Let's try something simple. What's your name?"

Through gritted teeth, the boy said, "Crabbe. Vincent Crabbe. I'm a Pureblood Wizard and I'm in Slytherin House at Hogwarts!"

"Well la-dee-da for you . . . ," said Adam dryly. Still keeping his eyes on Crabbe, Adam said, "What happened next, Matt?"

"Oh, man, dad!" said Matt, still grinning from ear-to-ear when Maisie said that she thought that he was "brave." "You and Mr. Cattermole should 'a been there! It was totally awesome!

"That Slytherin punk came after us on his broom through the woods when he lost an argument with a low tree branch that smacked him upside his head and laid him out flat and totaling his ride!"

"W-what did your son just say, Adam?" said Reg.

"Gimmie a sec Reg." Adam grinned slightly, glanced to his son and said, "Angleloquitium," and then twitched his nose, making the air around his son's head sparkle. "Alright, Matt, say it again for Mr. Cattermole. But be quick about it. This charm won't last long . . . ."

"Too right, father," said Matt, who turned to Reg and said, "Bally Slithie pranged his Sweepie right in the How's-Your-Father! Hairy blighter dicky-birdied, feathered back on his Sammy, took a waspy, flipped over on his Betty Harpers, and caught his can in the Bertie!"

Reg blinked and shook his head. "I - I don't think that I quite follow you, Matthew . . . ."

"It's perfectly ordinary banter, sir," said Matt, trying again. "Bally Slithie . . . pranged his Sweepie . . . ."

"Ah, that's enough, son," said Adam shaking his head. "I guess Reg doesn't speak "Monty Python."

"I spoke to a python I met at a zoo, once, Mr. Stephens," said Maisie offhandedly. "He told me that about six years ago, a boy my age made the Perspex barrier of his enclosure vanish and he was able to get out of it and go for a bit of a stroll. He asked me if I could do the same for him, but I said that I didn't think my powers were strong enough, yet."

His father's charm wore off, and Matt said, "So, what do we do now, dad?"

"I dunno," said Adam, relaxing a bit. "But whatever it is, I'd better do this, first." He then twitched his nose, and said, "Incarcerous." At his command, ropes appeared and bound Vincent Crabbe firmly. Adam was going to shove Crabbe into the back seat of the Pacer, but hesitated when he remembered that the back seat was full of groceries and supplies that would need to be moved out of the way, first.

Before Adam could ask his son and Maisie to move the stuff in the back seat to the cargo area, he noticed the end of a piece of parchment sticking out of Crabbe's blazer pocket. Adam took it and unfolded the parchment, gave it a quick once-over, shook his head in disbelief, and then handed it to Reg, saying, "Check it out, Reg. You and Mary are famous . . . ."

Reg looked at the parchment, and said, "Bloody hell . . . ."

Maisie said, "What is it, dad?" Her father handed the parchment to her, and Matt looked on and read along with his friend. Both children blinked. The parchment looked like an old-fashioned 'wanted poster' from the Old West or something, complete with moving (and very unflattering,) wizarding photos of Mr. and Mrs. Cattermole.

Matt could hardly believe what he was seeing. The charges listed were as numerous as they were self-evidently ridiculous, and included "Theft of Magic from a True Witch and/or Wizard;" "Flight from Justice;" and even, for some crazy reason, three counts of kidnapping. And at the very bottom of the parchment, a reward for ten thousand galleons – dead or alive - was offered for each. An ominous line just below the reward amount was a reminder that the UK's Ministry of Magic has declared the Cattermole adults to be "Wolf's Heads." Matt had no idea what that even meant, but he did not like the sound of it.

"Woah, Reg," said Adam. "According to this, you and Mary are the 'Bonnie and Clyde' of Our World, or something!" Adam then turned back to Crabbe, and said, "So, you thought that you could get rich quick by playing bounty-hunter. What was your plan, to hold our kids hostage in exchange for Reg and Mary?" Vincent did not say anything. He just looked at Adam defiantly, but with a grin that was one part sly and two parts stupid.

Reg folded the parchment up and slipped it into his pocket. "Right, I reckon your Aurors will want to see this when they come to pick up Mr. Crabbe, here."

"No doubt," said Adam, shaking his head. "Alright, let's get back home. We'll call the FBS when we get there, and then they can send over an Auror to deal with this punk.

"Matt? Would you and Maisie try to cram the stuff in the back seat into the cargo area? The two of you will ride up front with me while Mr. Cattermole sits in the back to keep an eye on our "passenger." Now, about the punk's broom . . . we can't leave it here in the street . . . ." Adam twitched his nose, levitating the broken broom onto the roof rack of the Pacer. Another nose-twitch and cords appeared, tying the broom securely to the rack. Moments later, everyone was aboard, and Adam started the Pacer, pulling it back onto the road.

"You two did a very good job packing the stuff in the back seat in the cargo area," said Adam, driving slowly because Matt and Maisie were not belted in since they had to share the right front bucket seat.

"No problem," said Matt, still grinning from Maisie's earlier compliment. "I told you that all those hours playing Tetris was not a waste of time . . . ." Matt caught a glimpse of Maisie in his peripheral vision, and she was smiling. She thought what he said was cute! Matt couldn't believe what was happening; he was actually impressing a girl with his wit! But how to keep the ball rolling . . . ?

Matt turned around, kneeling on the seat to face the rear, and looked straight at Vincent Crabbe as Mr. Cattermole held the magically bound teen wizard at wandpoint. Adam saw what he was doing, and told his son to sit back down right. Matt would not disobey his father, but first he had something to say to the punk that tried to hurt him and Maisie.

Fixing Vincent Crabbe with a neutral look, Matt said, "That's a pretty sweet ride you got, Vincent. A Nimbus 2001! Of course, you won't get much use out of it in Miss Penn, will you?

"You know what, dad? I think we should keep it after the Aurors haul his ass away."

Adam could have responded to his son in many ways. In the end, he just said, "It's just trash, son. The shaft is cracked, beyond repair. Now, sit down right."

"Please sit down, Matt," said Maisie with quiet urgency.

But Matt did not move, and said, "I bet that Greatgran Endora cold fix it easily with a quick twitch of her nose. Then we can paint the shaft mile-deep black automotive lacquer with hand-painted flames on the front and redo the bristles and send the brass fittings out to be chromed!

"Man, when I go to Randolph Carter a year from now, I'll have the most badass ride there!"

"Yeah, son," said Adam. "There is only one flaw in your otherwise flawless plan. The broom on the car roof is not yours. It belongs to young Mr. Crabbe, here."

Matt protested, "But dad, that punk –"

"Son, whatever he may have done or tried to do; Stephenses do not steal. And even though he is a punk, he is still an adult, and you will address him as such if you must address him at all." At least, thought Adam, Mr. Vincent Crabbe here is going to be tried as an adult, if I have anything to say about it.

"So, do I make myself clear, son? No matter what he wanted to do to you and Maisie; two wrongs don't make a right. Now, sit down properly in your seat, I won't ask you again!"

But before Matt could start to turn around, Vincent Crabbe just smiled at him. "I like this boy. He thinks like a Slytherin, he does. That's the Zabini in him talking, and no mistake."

"You're wrong," said Matt flatly. "I'm not a Slytherin or a "Zabini," whatever that is! My dad's right, we Stephenses don't steal! You can keep your lousy pile of kindling; good luck getting it back into the air ever again!" Then Matt turned around to face forward in his seat, only vaguely aware of Maisie touching his arm reassuringly.

They continued in silence for another minute or so. Then Matt said, "Dad, what did he mean about me being a "Zabini." What's a Zabini, anyway?"

"I haven't the slightest idea, son," said Adam.

Never taking his eyes off of Crabbe, Reg said, "Zabini" is the surname of an old, Pureblood Wizarding Family in the UK, Matthew. They are ancient, and very wealthy. They can trace their ancestry back to the sorcerers of Ancient Egypt; specifically to a mage named Jannes who served the Pharaoh at the time of the Exodus – or so they claim."

"Are we related to the Zabini Family, dad?"

"Not that I am aware of, son," said Adam shaking his head. "I'm sure that I would have remembered my Grandma Endora mentioning something about it if we were."

Again, Matt turned around in the seat he shared with Maisie to face the bound teen wizard, and – remembering what his dad had told him earlier - said, "See? You're wrong, Mr. Crabbe. We're not Zabinis."

"Not by blood, maybe," said Crabbe. "But soon . . . ."

"Turn back around and face forward, son," said Adam. He then changed his tone, and said, "And you back there; do not talk to my son ever again! Got it? Good!" Without saying another word, Adam turned off of Midshipman Road and onto their driveway.

Matt looked down at himself and Maisie. They were both still damp and smelling of creek water, with drying mud on their arms, legs and bare feet. My Air Jordans had better still be where I had to leave them, thought Matt. "Sorry about me and Maisie getting mom's seat all skanky, dad."

"That's alright, son," said Adam. "It might actually be a blessing in disguise."

Still not taking his eyes off of Vincent, Reg said, "How so, Adam?"

"We might be able to talk our way out of helping to clean the house for dinner tonight," said Adam. "You and I will tell Jan and Mary that we have to clean the interior of Jan's car. If we do a full detailing job, that should take us all the way to dinner. That beats cleaning the house, any day." And besides, thought Adam, we still have four bottles left . . . .

"Can Maisie and me help, dad?"

"Sorry son. Your moms probably have work planned for the two of you before you have to check on the traps – after you wash up, that is – hey, hold-up! What's going on, here . . . ?"

Matt shrugged and said, "Well, I had to try, dad, didn't I?"

Adam said, "No, not you, son. What are all those trucks doing in front of our house . . . ?"

"Hey, dad," said Matt. "I can see some people in the back yard. What are they doing, here?"

"I don't know, son," said Adam. "Unless the landlord has scheduled some kind of maintenance that he forgot to tell us about; your mom and sure I didn't hire anyone for anything. But I intend to find out . . . ."

Adam stopped the Pacer in front of the house, and got out. Both Matt and Maisie jumped out next, followed by Reg, who turned to Vincent Crabbe, who was still bound by magical ropes in the back seat, and said dryly, "Wait here, there's a good boy," before following Adam and the children to the Stephenses back yard.

The four mages went around to the back to see about a dozen muggle workmen in the process of cleaning up. Then Adam noticed their outdoor brick barbecue pit. The waist-high wall was now a brick structure about eight feet high with a large, arched opening at the front.

Maisie moved closer to her father and the two watched gobsmacked as Adam dropped an F-Bomb, said, "I'll handle this!" and went brusquely over to the workmen with Matt close behind him. The workmen had their tools and were heading back to their trucks when Adam confronted the one who appeared to be the foreman, bombarding him with a barrage of questions. But the foreman said nothing in reply, and instead, spoke only to direct his departing crew.

Reg said, "Adam, I think that they are ensorcelled. It looks like the Imperius Curse, and no mistake!"

But Adam barely heard his friend as he looked over their backyard barbecue grille. Since moving in, the Stephenses had used it several times a month making 'burgers and pork steaks and ribs. But now, it looked more like an outdoor walk-in closet; good luck using it for a cookout, now. And then Adam felt a chill when he realized what the workmen had done.

Adam said, "R-Reg, kids . . . I think that I just screwed-up even bigger than I ever have before . . . . Everyone, let's get back to the car and get out of here!"

"But what about mom and Evie?" said Matt. "And Maisie's mom and brother and sister? Are they alright?"

"We'll find out as soon as we get clear of the house and call the FBS!" said Adam. "Man, I must be the world's biggest idiot to think that a dumb goon like Crabbe could possibly be working alone . . . !"

The two wizards and their kids made their way back to the front yard and Janelle's Pacer. The workmen and their trucks were gone, but Crabbe was there, unbound, standing between them and the car, and he was not alone. Standing next to him was a teenage witch, her dark hair in a short bob cut, wand at the ready. And she looked equal parts angry and scared spitless.

The teen witch pointed her wand at Adam and Reg, commanding them to drop their wands. As she did this, Crabbe said, "Accio wand!" Crabbe's wand jumped from Reg's jacket pocket, and over to Crabbe, who barely managed to catch it.

The teen witch shook her head, and said dryly, "Brilliant Vincent. No wonder you made the Quidditch team . . . ."

Adam said, "Listen, Miss . . . ."

"It's Parkinson," spat the girl. "Pansy Parkinson. N-now step away from those children and drop your wands, NOW!"

"What are you going to do to our kids?"

"Your kids?" said Pansy incredulously. "Your kids?! You can stop the dissembling, you filthy blood-traitors! Your game is up! Now drop your wands or I'll use a Cruciatus Curse; I won't be asking you nicely again!"

"That's asking us nicely . . . ?" said Adam. But the girl did not reply. Instead, she struck Adam with a Petrificus Totalus curse while Crabbe simultaneously hit Reg with an Incarcerous spell. The two immobilized wizards fell to the ground with a thud.

For the third time in a week, Matt grabbed Maisie's hand and pulled her in the direction of the woods, hoping to lose the teenagers. Only this time, he did not have to tell Maisie to run. The two ten year olds made it about five yards before their way was blocked by the teen mages, who apparated directly in front of them. It was over before it began when Maisie was caught by Pansy and Matt ran directly into the solid wall that was Vincent Crabbe.

Pansy had Maisie firmly by her arm, but Matt struggled against Crabbe; kicking and screaming wildly. To everyone's surprise, Matt squirmed free of Vincent's grip, and then turned towards the girls to try and separate Maisie from Pansy by charging between them as he would in a game of "Red-Rover" during gym class. But before he could take three steps, Vincent grabbed him by the back of his tee-shirt, jerking Matt to a stop. Vincent then spun the hapless boy around, setting him up for a hard punch to his stomach.

"NO!" commanded Pansy. "Do not harm that poor boy. It's not his fault! He doesn't know what he's doing! He's frightened and confused, he is!"

"The little twerp hurt me!" whined Vincent.

"Not as badly as Blaise will if he finds out that you beat-up his little brother," said Pansy flatly.

"I'M NOBODY'S "LITTLE BROTHER!" screamed Matt. But other than Vincent pulling Matt to his feet and holding him firmly, the teen mages ignored him.

"So, what now?" said Vincent.

Pansy sighed with exasperation, and said, "Now, we take these two to see Madame Undersecretary Umbridge." Vincent was about to say something, but Pansy continued, "We come back for these two later on," she nodded to Adam and Reg, "Obviously . . . ."

Holding Matt firmly, Vincent followed Pansy and Maisie to the Stephenses front door. As he passed the supine forms of Adam Stephens and Reginald Cattermole, an idea dawned on him. Pausing by Reg, Vincent grinned widely, and said, "Wait here, there's a good boy," before pushing Matt forward to catch up with the girls.

When they reached the front door, Matt suppressed a shudder. The last time that Matt Stephens was afraid to enter his own front door was almost a year ago when he had forgotten to do an assignment that he had been given by his teacher earlier that week, and had to take a note to his parents asking that they call her.

In retrospect, Matt realized that his fear had been silly of him. His parents had been firm with him, but fair. His only "punishment" had been to complete the missed assignment over the upcoming weekend before he could play or watch television. And when he came back the following Monday after school with a solid "B" on the assignment, (the highest grade possible for an assignment turned in late,) all was forgiven after Matt promised to never forget a school assignment ever again.

But this time, everything was different. Matt had no idea what he would see when he went through that familiar doorway. With a dismissive swish and flick of her wand, Pansy Parkinson said, "Alohomora," and the door swung open, allowing them to enter without breaking stride like the doors at the local supermarket.

The teens then led Matt and Maisie into the very heart of the Stephenses home: The combination living and dining room with its connected kitchen. Off to the side, the two ten-year-olds caught a glimpse of their moms who, like their dads, had been immobilized via incarcerous and full-body petrification spells and leaned against the living room wall to keep them upright. Without realizing it Matt must have hesitated a fraction of a second too long because Vincent gave him a firm shove from behind to keep him moving forward.

When they finally reached the kitchen table and stopped, Matt swallowed hard. The table was now covered with papers – no, Matt realized. Not papers; parchments - parchments and old-fashioned quill pens and an inkwell. Other items included an abacus and a wax seal stamp set. Matt had seen items like these for sale these in his mom's and dad's store, but he rarely saw any of them in regular use.

Most American wizards and witches used modern bond paper and ballpoint pens for regular correspondence and electronic pocket calculators (though the truly powerful mages like his Greatgran Endora still had to use abacuses to make calculations – their stray magic would fry electronic pocket calculators.) Nowadays, parchment, bottle ink, and sealing wax were still used by American wizards and witches only for official documents and correspondences.

The only familiar thing remaining on the Stephenses table was the cooler of iced tea that was always on the table for as long as Matt could remember, and that was pushed off to the side to make way for everything else. But the main reason the cooler caught Matt's attention was that someone very odd looking was attempting to fill a cup of tea from it. That struck Matt as odd. Who drinks iced tea from a cup . . . ?

The witch trying to get some of Matt's mom's iced tea was short, plump and dressed in a ridiculous outfit in varying shades of pink. She was so intent on trying to figure out how to work the spigot of the cooler, that she either did not notice, or pretended not to notice, that the four youths were standing before her. When the witch finally managed to fill her cup, she let out a squeal of girlish triumph that then turned to a gag and a grimace as she tasted the tea, and promptly set the cup aside with ostentatious disgust.

The pink witch then took a seat at the table, finally acknowledging the presence of the two teens and two ten-year-olds with a funny "Hem-Hem" sound.

With unabashed triumph, Pansy said, "Madame Undersecretary Umbridge. May I present the children who think that they are "Matthew Stephens" and "Maisie Cattermole."

The Pink Witch smiled at them; a sickeningly-sweet smile that made Matt and Maisie both feel their hearts jump into their throats. There was only one person that this could be; the infamous Dolores Umbridge, head of the dreaded Muggle Born Registration Commission that had put Maisie's mom on trial for "stealing magic."

Matt was afraid. Though this witch looked ridiculous in her girly-pink outfit, she was apparently powerful enough to overpower their parents and take his' and Maisie's families prisoner in their own home. At that thought, Matt felt another emotion competing for center-stage with his initial fright: anger. Matt planted his fists defiantly on his hips in a "Superman" pose, scowled at the Pink Witch, and said, "OK, lady, who are you and what have you done to our parents and sisters and Maisie's little brother . . . ?"

The Pink Witch's expression shifted from a beaming smile to mild disgust as she eyed the children brought before her. The main reason for her revulsion was, of course, because they were children (and ten-year-old children at that.) But in addition to Matt and Maisie being children, they were children who were dressed in little more than rags, barefoot, dirty, wet and smelly. And to top it all off, the boy was insufferably insolent. Well, Umbridge expected as much; especially from a boy raised as an American. Hopefully the Obliviators and Memory Modifiers can do something about that ridiculous accent of his, as well . . . .

Dolores fixed the boy with a stern expression, and said, "My dear, poor little boy, I have done nothing at all to your "parents." But if you really want to find out the fate of your real mum and dad, then I would suggest asking the people who you have been addressing as such over the past ten years."

Matt shook his head, and said, "Huh . . .?"

The Pink Witch's smile returned. "My dear boy, I have the misfortune of being the one shouldered with the grim responsibility of informing you and your friend here that you are not who you think you are. You and your sister and this girl and her siblings are the children of Pureblooded Wizarding Families that were kidnapped by the people you have been mistakenly addressing as mum and dad.

"As for the fate of your true parents, it is very likely that they were murdered by your blood traitor "fathers" and the mudblood magic stealing whores that they married that you poor darlings have been calling "mummy" for as long as you can remember."

Matt shook his head vigorously. "What have you been smoking, lady? Our moms and dads are our moms and dads! They didn't kidnap us; they had us! And if you were a dude instead of a lady, I'd clobber you for saying that about my mom! Now take it back!"

"No, my dear boy," said Umbridge shaking her head condescendingly. "We have proof that the two of you and the children being kept safe in the next room were stolen from Pureblooded Wizarding Families.

"Now, while we do not know which families you were taken from, we can do the next best thing and see to it that your kidnappers are properly punished and that you and the other children are properly placed with new, loving pureblood families of impeccable bloodlines!"

"The Zabini family," said Matt jerking his head to Vincent behind him. "That's what tubby here meant when he said that I was some kid named Blaise's "little brother." And what kind of name for a guy is "Blaise," anyway?" Vincent tightened his grip on Matt's arm, but Matt was too mad to flinch, no matter how much it hurt.

Returning his full attention to the Pink Witch sitting at his mom's kitchen table, Matt said, "It won't work, lady! When my Grandma Samantha and my Greatgran Endora find out, then you and Augustus Gloop and Veruca Salt here are really gonna be in for a big-time beatdown!"

"By the time those two blood-traitors notice that you are missing, the deed will have been done," said Umbridge with exaggerated pleasantness. "Your kidnappers will have been punished, and you and the other children will be safely with your new families none-the-wiser of your traumatic pasts."

"Have you blown a gasket, lady?" said Matt, his defiance laced with a tincture of worry. "You and these punks are just one locator spell away from being into it up to your necks!"

Umbridge let out an impatient sigh. "My dear boy, you don't have the slightest idea of how a locator spell actually works, do you . . . ?"

"Duh," said Matt rolling his eyes. "It magically locks-in on a person's DNA to find them."

Umbridge raised an eyebrow. "And what, pray tell, is this "deeanay" that you speak of, young man?"

"Uh, it's the building blocks of life, you Big Pink Dorcus!" said Matt. "Everybody's DNA is unique, and when the FBS Aurors track us down with a locator spell –"

"You really have no idea of how a locator spell works, do you, little boy?" said Umbridge shaking her head pedantically. "Then please allow me to enlighten you. A locator spell is not dependent on "deeanay," or other form of dubious muggle science.

"A locator spell finds a person by who they know they are. But in a few hours, you will no longer "know" that you are "Matthew Starr Stephens." When the Obliviators and Memory Modifiers are done with you, you will henceforth be known to yourself and to all as "Maxim Zabini."

"Maxim . . . ?" Matt Stephens had no comeback, and stammered as he tried his best to come up with one. Then Umbridge then turned to Maisie, and said, "And as for you, young lady; you shall have the supremely good fortune to become my very own Parselmouth daughter!"

"NEVER, YOU FAT, UGLY PINK TOAD!" Maisie spat. "I WON'T GO ALONG WITH YOUR MAD SCHEME!"

"I'll forgive your ingratitude for now," said Umbridge evenly, "because you don't know any better. But in a few hours, you will be my dutiful, respectful daughter, Felicia Umbridge, and you will not remember your little outburst, nor ever even think of subjecting me to such language from now on!"

Maisie stammered, "F-Felicia . . .?"

"Oh, I hate seeing the two of you this way! It absolutely disgusts me!" said Umbridge. The Pink Witch removed a short wand from her jacket pocket and gave her wand a swish and flick as she uttered an enchantment. Matt and Maisie braced themselves. But instead of feeling themselves slipping away, they felt a tingle all over. When they looked down, they saw that they were now clean and that their clothes felt freshly washed, as well.

"Better . . . ?" said Umbridge. "You may rest assured, Felicia, that unlike your so-called "mum and dad," that I would never permit you to go outside filthy, barefoot and in rags! Unlike them, I can afford to put decent clothes on your back and shoes on your feet!

"And as for you, Maxim, you may rest assured that the Zabinis will see that you are properly dressed and shod and that you never play in a filthy open sewer ever again!"

Matt finally found his voice. "That wasn't any open sewer, lady! That creek is clean! Dad says it handles runoff when it rains and the sewer pipes are underground and separate! Besides, we weren't playing in the creek! We were setting traps to catch crawfish for our dinner tonight!"

"Oh, now everything is clear." Umbridge shook her head sympathetically at Matt. "Dressed in rags, barefoot, and being sent by your "parents" to forage for food? You are most fortunate that I arrived in such a timely manner!

"And now," Umbridge turned her attention to Pansy and Vincent. "Would the two of you be so kind as to put Felicia and Maxim with the others, and then bring the blood traitors inside?"

Without another word, Vincent and Pansy all but frog-marched Matt and Maisie down the hallway to the master bedroom where Evie, Ellie and Alfred were undoubtedly waiting for them.